


down in a ribcage

by mommygiri



Category: Batman - All Media Types, Gotham (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Serial Killers, Dead Dove: Do Not Eat, Detectives, Gen, Gore, Hurt Damian Wayne, I'm Sorry
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-06
Updated: 2020-12-06
Packaged: 2021-03-10 02:06:42
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,825
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27916477
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mommygiri/pseuds/mommygiri
Summary: There's a serial killer on the loose in Gotham. Detective Jim Gordon is grasping at shadows as dead bodies with missing organs keep showing up. All he sees are dead ends as an unknown caller decides to try to help.
Relationships: Bruce Wayne & Damian Wayne
Comments: 1
Kudos: 23





	down in a ribcage

**Chapter 1.**

The large ditch in Gotham City's infamous back alley has overflowed again. The ditch is a stagnant body of water as its aqueduct is blocked by waste products. The water is dirty and discolored from algae bloom, and is currently flooding the alley enough to submerge an adult to the ankles, causing the homeless occupants to relocate to somewhere less pathological. Detective Jim Gordon is wading through the foul-smelling water. His heavy boots create disruptive patterns until he arrives at the very end of the alley, where a crime scene sits. 

The weary detective ducks beneath the criss-crossing police line. Multiple officers in raincoats are taking photographs or notes where a cadaver lies. The victim's body is partially covered with a nylon sheet --courtesy of the GCPD. Upon seeing Detective Gordon, a figure wrapped in a wet trainee coat quickly approached him.

"Detective," The officer, of course, is not a trainee. She is Officer Xue of the Homicide Division. Her eyes are set wide without showing the fact that she's on her twentieth hour on shift. 

"What have you got?" Gordon winced internally at how rough his voice sounds. Officer Xue quickly reports as she leads him to where the body lays. The body has been dead for more than 24 hours, she says. How long exactly has been made difficult to estimate because of the water submerging it. There are multiple blunt force injuries, potentially causing mortality.

It is definitely an unreasonable death.

The duty officers make place for Gordon to inspect the body. It is a male, about five foot four. The man is of Caucasian descent, roughly fifty to fifty-five years old. Naked. He has sparse hair decorating the crown of his head. He is lying face down, head turned to the side, showing his large crooked nose and a deep green bruise on his right eye --not livor mortis, Gordon notes. His body is bloated, skin sickly green-grey and a putrid smell wafts from it. An officer offered Gordon a tub of balm and he gingerly took it, coating his nostrils with the thick white cream.

"Is the cause of death determined already?" Gordon asks the coroner, a man in his forties even though he looks older from the lack of sleep. He shakes his head slowly. His mouth is set tight as he says: "No, we need a thorough autopsy. Poor bastard though, this one. Our guy knows what he's doing by drowning him in this shit water --his face's bloated to unrecognition."

He exhales sharply before continuing. "It's that guy, though."

Gordon feels a headache forming above his left brow. It is the second night in a row the Homicide Division has found bodies from 'that guy'. All with the same M.O. Bodies thrown in secluded areas, time of death cleverly concealed. Their teeth were all taken --possibly a torture method with the side objective being making the police's job harder to ID the victims.

A minor commotion is heard as a young reporter tries to break into the crime scene. Two officers are trying to stop his barrage of questions, keeping tight-lipped with grim faces. Gordon's headache instantly spread to the back of his nape. They are going to have to inform the press eventually. And when they do, it's going to be a snowball effect of press pressure, government interference, and terrified citizens with a murderous maniac on the loose.

They continue their work in hazy silence, only speaking when needed. As with the last body, there's no fingerprints, no signs of struggle, nothing. The body was simply dumped here to rot within boggy water. There's nothing found in the alley as well. The alley is lined by several dilapidated buildings that have only enough electricity to paint the water dim yellow. They are right beside each other, leaving no room to squeeze through. Junk is stacked inside the narrow opening between the wall at the end of the passage and the two storey flat. The occupants must think it's just another simple murder in the good ol' Gotham evening because all their doors are locked, with some refusing to even answer the police knocking. Those who answered say they saw nothing. 

As the last photos of the scene were taken, the GCPD officers quickly disperse into their cars. Gordon stays long enough to see the body carried to the ambulance, when a flickering street light snaps on, light flooding the stretcher carrying the body. 

Gordon notes the long scar reflecting the light on the man's abdomen. The previous victim had a similar scar, neatly sewed, stretching from his jugular notch to the epigastrium. He wonders what else is taken this time? He doesn't let his mind wander as to _why_ the murderer took a part of his victims --a problem to wonder after a full night's sleep tomorrow.

_Wonder if this poor fucker's got bat dung shoved up his ass too_ , he thinks for himself as he drives back to his office. It was a bad joke this killer thinks of --as fruit bats are natural inhabitants of Gotham. _They're everywhere, Gordon,_ a faceless grinning voice says mockingly in Gordon's mind. 

_They're everywhere in this godforsaken city. The city you've given everything to protect. What will you do to stop me now? You can't find me._

Gordon unlocks his office and makes a beeline to the desk drawer. Inside was a bottle of brandy, and he wills the smug voice inside his head to shut up with a healthy swig. He sinks down to his chair and tries to sleep. He feels tired beyond physical. He knows he's going to regret sleeping in damp clothes, but he can't find it in himself to care. 

~

Things are worse in the morning.

Somebody has tipped the press about the murder cases as the headline of Gotham Gazette currently reads 'Serial Killer Kills Three! Police Baffled by Bat Feces'. The department is in disarray, landlines ringing each millisecond with press or concerned citizens. Jim Gordon is in the eye of the storm, quietly sipping coffee as he reads the autopsy report of two nights ago's victim. 

**VISUM ET REPERTUM**

**John Doe**

**(Residency unknown)**

**(Occupation unknown)**

**(Age unknown)**

**Label: not found**

**Jewelry and clothing: cadaver is in the state of undress**

Gordon knows for a fact that they're still working to ID the three bodies they found. He skips over the missing details straight to the body's description. This one is also a Caucasian male, tall and thin instead of short and stout. Multiple lacerations are made in non-lethal areas of the body. There are multiple skull depressions, with a particularly large one resulting in epidural hematoma on his frontal lobe. His teeth are all missing. The sutured wound on his chest reveals a missing thymus and a sliver of his ascending aorta. The removal was made post mortem. 

The third victim was found face down on the industrial district's back alley. This one was a little more creative. He was propped on a chair on an inconspicuous rooftop, where later they found out is the center piece of a five point star where unrelated cases happen. The first three cases are robberies, and the other two were child kidnapping. Nothing of concern was taken, and the two children were later found alive.

It is possible that this man was the kidnapper. The GCPD is often overwhelmed by the sheer number of crimes happening in the city each night, so these kinds of cases most probably end in the bottom of the case files priority. But if that was the case, how did the murderer find out? How did he even get access to the cases? 

Who is this murderer?

"Hey, Jim! Letter for you!" Harvey Bullock's baritone voice interrupts his pondering. The heavy set man is walking towards him in a hurry, beads of sweat on his forehead. On his hand, he clutches a white envelope.

"Mail guy says it's from 'the informant'," Bullock breathlessly says once he gets close enough. Gordon, who had stood up, sits back down and takes two rubber gloves from the desk drawer. Bullock hands the envelope to him.

This is new. Usually, the nameless informant makes calls addressed to Jim Gordon specifically. The first time was through the public landline, a heavily disguised voice citing the address of the warehouse where they found their first victim. The second time was done in a similar manner. Last night, though, they called straight to Gordon's work cellphone, the panicked tone of the robotic voice making Gordon act as fast as possible.

All of the calls are untraceable.

It's a regular commercial flap envelope, made from a stark white paper with no signs of production. The flap is kept shut by centimeter-sized double tape. Gordon takes a box cutter and carefully pries the double tape open.

The contents of the envelope are an old name card and two small bags of plastic. Bullock crowds on his space to see closer as Gordon inspects the plastic bags first. The first one contains a small piece of fabric. It's red in color, ends frayed as if it has been torn. Gordon feels a sinking feeling to his stomach as he disposes the cloth to an evidence bag. The second plastic has some blackish debris. It looks like the bat manure they've been collecting from the victims' anus. The informant has never given futile information, though, and Gordon is sure there's going to be more of it once properly analyzed. 

The name card was frayed on the corners, indicating frequent contact with fingers. The black card is embossed with thick gold letters, that says:

**_Iceberg Lounge_ **

**Oswald Cobblepot**

**Owner**

There's something written on the back of the card with a pencil. Gordon takes his desk lamp and tilts it towards the card. What was written there makes Gordon stand abruptly on his seat, immediately running to the Forensics department. Bullock follows him wordlessly --not before shouting 'that bat fucker', catching up on the flight of stairs to the basement.

"Jim, hey, Jim!"

Gordon doesn't stop until after he reaches the forensics lab. The doctor in charge looks at them wide-eyed. Both detectives are heaving, Gordon raises the card on his right hand.

"What's taken from the last victim?"

"The report's due soon, sir- I have no authorization to-"

"What. Is. Taken. From. The. Last. Victim. " Gordon says through his teeth. The doctor scrambles through the handwritten notes, her eyes skimming the pages. "Th-the left lobe of the liver is missing, sir,"

Gordon's mouth is slightly agape as his shoulders sag down. Both Bullock and the doctor looks at him expectantly, dreading what was written on the card to cause the normally strong-willed detective to show exasperation. Gordon tilts the card over to Bullock. Bullock reads it, and instantly feels as if he'd swallowed lead.

There, written in a nice tilted handwriting, are the words 'Liver chops'.

**Author's Note:**

> Hi, I'm Devi. Here's the obligatory first fic, don't be rude, leave comments, blahblahblah. Just kidding, I used to write in FFnet long time ago but the time has come for me to write here I guess.
> 
> Yeah, I'm a Thomas Harris fangirl. Silence of the Lambs is my jam. The detective/ true crime genre is the love of my life. I'll be posting a few fun trivias every chapter because I feel like it. Here's for now:
> 
> 1\. 'down in a ribcage' is a phrase from the SotL book, when Clarice Starling is visiting dr. Lecter in his cell.  
> 2\. Livor mortis- the bruising seen in a body after death. One of the signs of death, appearing as the fourth stage of death.  
> 3\. Visum et repertum- literally meaning 'a view is found', is the report written by forensics about dead bodies requested by the police  
> 4\. 'Liver chops' is also a SotL easter egg. Obviously from the famed dr. Lecter saying "I ate his liver with fava beans and a nice Chianti."
> 
> Now that all of you knows I'm a huge nerd, please be so kind to leave comments and kudos. You're allowed to be extremely critical towards me! Thanks~


End file.
